


Thanks, Old Bean!

by Verecunda



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: Ficlet, First World War, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/pseuds/Verecunda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're just like Austria and Germany, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanks, Old Bean!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either the _Horrible Histories_ books or TV series.

Blenkinsop really was a spiffing fellow. Maltravers had always thought so, since the days when they had been at Eton together, learning history and playing rugger and all that sort of thing. Not that they had ever been very good at either, to be perfectly honest, and in the case of rugger it did tend to get them biffed by the bigger chaps, Blenkinsop especially. Maltravers had always tried to stand up for him - after all, no one punched his best friend and got away with it - but that had just resulted in him being punched, too. But somehow he had never minded too much, not when afterwards Blenkinsop always smiled at him through his split lip and murmured, “Thanks, old bean!”

So it was no surprise, really, that they stayed best friends all the way through Oxford and even in the army, and even less of a surprise when they were put in charge of the same regiment, which, as it happened, was being sent to the Front immediately, what with this war business now afoot. Maltravers couldn’t help but feel a _tad_ nervous about the whole thing: after all, it still seemed to him that this war didn’t have very much to do with him at all, and he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to get killed for something that didn’t have very much to do with him. Not only that, he wasn’t sure he wanted Blenkinsop to get killed, either.

“I say,” said Blenkinsop that evening, when they were alone in Maltravers’ quarters, “that meeting was rather confusing. I still don’t think I know what’s going on.”

“I’m still not sure what Britain has to do with any of it,” mumbled Maltravers, still rather put out by the whole thing.

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine,” said Blenkinsop. He clapped a friendly hand on Maltravers’ shoulder. “As long as we stick together, what?”

“Of course,” said Maltravers. “And I’ll make sure you don’t get shot to bits by Jerry.”

Blenkinsop smiled brightly. “Thanks, old bean!”

He didn’t know what it was, but something about Blenkinsop’s smile suddenly had Maltravers blushing furiously, even more so when he realised that Blenkinsop was also blushing furiously. Then - neither of them really knew how (because that would require thinking, and neither of them were very good at that) - they were kissing. And suddenly Maltravers realised exactly why he’d always thought that Blenkinsop was a spiffing fellow. And even though he was fairly sure that a chap could get banged up in the clink for this sort of thing, he had to admit that this was more than spiffing - it was just absolutely topping!

So Blenkinsop might not know where Bosnia was, and Maltravers was still rather unsure what any of this had to do with Britain, and there was a good chance that they were all going to get blown up by Jerry anyway, but none of that mattered for now.


End file.
